


In the bleak mid-winter

by Apathy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Alternate Universe - Valjean Survives, Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, M/M, Post-Seine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 00:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathy/pseuds/Apathy
Summary: Valjean leans back in his chair with a smile, happy to half-listen to Cosette and Marius’ cheerful chatter until the boy has eaten enough to take the edge off his hunger.‘So, Jacques. You said you had a message for me?’Jacques wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Yes, Monsieur. Inspector Javert told me to tell you that he’s stuck at the stationhouse because of – ’ and here he is obviously quoting ‘ – “an unprecedented outbreak of deviant and dangerous behaviour”. He says you should wait for him here.’Javert gets caught up at work on Christmas Eve.





	In the bleak mid-winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is just complete self-indulgent silliness.
> 
> Big thanks to saltedpin for doing a last-minute beta over Christmas -- all mistakes are, of course, my own.

The knock at the door is expected, but it is wrong – it lacks the strength, the rock-solid certitude, that Valjean is expecting.

He jumps up from his seat to answer the door. The servants were all dismissed hours ago at Cosette and Marius’ insistence – it is Christmas Eve, after all, and there is more than enough food to keep them all going in the servants’ absence. The sheer amount of it leaves him dumbfounded, having the effect of quelling his appetite instead of stoking it.

Monsieur Gillenormand is snoring in front of the fire, unlikely to wake for anything less than a full military band passing through the room. Mademoiselle Gillenormand has already left to visit a friend.

Now, it is just the three of them – Cosette, Marius, and himself. If there is still a pang within Valjean’s chest at the presence of Marius, it is smaller than it once was. He has been good for Cosette; his devotion to her – and, embarrassingly, to Valjean himself – is undeniable.

Of course, he has had his own distraction to keep him from ruminating so deeply upon his changed position within Cosette’s life – namely, Javert. It is Javert himself whom he has been awaiting so eagerly – the man was supposed to be here two hours ago, but Valjean has become used to his lateness, the never-ending paperwork and unexpected arrests that break his schedule. Javert’s sense of timing may run like clockwork in all other aspects of his life, but his shifts end erratically at best.

Valjean opens the door, smiling – and then pulls his gaze downwards. A gamin stands there – and oh, that explains why the knock was not as he expected.

He hides his disappointment. The child is probably merely delivering a message to say that Javert will be particularly late tonight.

The boy is shivering in his ragged coat, and Valjean ushers him inside. It would not do to make him stand on the front step in such dreadful weather, and on Christmas Eve especially! The boy looks surprised, wary, but the smell of rich food and the crackling of the fire, together with a few kind words, are enough to coax him indoors easily enough.

Valjean’s knees creak as he crouches before the boy, so that they are at more of an eye level. ‘What is your name, child?’

‘Jacques,’ the boy replies, uncertain and brave at the same time. He juts his chin out. ‘I have a message from Inspector Javert, for a Monsieur Fauchelevent.’

‘Well, Jacques, that would be me,’ Valjean says kindly. It doesn’t sound like Jacques’ message is anything particularly urgent, given the child’s demeanour, and he relaxes. ‘Please, come join us – we have more food than we know what to do with, and I would hate to see it go to waste. And then you can deliver your message.’ 

Jacques still looks uncertain, but then Cosette appears from the dining room with an inviting smile, and he allows Valjean to lead him to the table. Cosette has already set the boy out a plate of good, hearty food, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he tucks in, foregoing the cutlery and using his bare hands.

Valjean leans back in his chair with a smile, happy to half-listen to Cosette and Marius’ cheerful chatter until the boy has eaten enough to take the edge off his hunger. 

‘So, Jacques. You said you had a message for me?’

Jacques wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Yes, Monsieur. Inspector Javert told me to tell you that he’s stuck at the stationhouse because of – ’ and here he is obviously quoting ‘ – “an unprecedented outbreak of deviant and dangerous behaviour”. He says you should wait for him here.’

A faint sense of unease crawls up the back of Valjean’s neck, although he tamps it down. Surely things cannot be too terrible if Javert would send a small child out into the middle of it all – surely word would have gotten around if there was something serious happening? The boy does not seem perturbed.

‘He arrested me, and even got my mum and my sister,’ Jacques continues. ‘There’s all kinds of people being held down at the station.’

Valjean blinks. There is a sinking feeling in his gut – but surely there must be some sort of misunderstanding. ‘Inspector Javert... arrested you? And your family?’

The boy makes a sound around a mouthful of food that Valjean takes as assent. 

‘Did he give you a reason why?’

‘Yes, Monsieur. He said I was guilty of highway robbery. And my sister got nicked for twelve counts of arson.’

Valjean’s brows draw together in surprise. ‘And how old is your sister, Jacques?’

Jacques favours him with a gap-toothed grin. ‘Almost two, Monsieur.’

‘I see.’ Valjean strokes his beard thoughtfully. He is still mildly concerned, yes, but said concern is running a distant second to a growing suspicion, and with it, relief. He can feel the faintest hint of a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. ‘And what about your mother?’

‘Im – ’ The child’s grimy face scrunches up in concentration as he tries to recall the words. ‘Impersonating a magistrate, he said.’

Valjean very nearly chokes on nothing at all; he coughs quickly to cover it up, smothering down the laughter that threatens to rise up within him. Javert’s motivations are now obvious to him, and he feels a swell of sentiment within his heart, as well as guilt for not having trusted the man. But there will be time enough for self-recrimination later. He leans forwards.

‘I am surprised that you were allowed to leave the station, given the gravity of the charges against you.’

Jacques shrugs cheerfully, swinging his legs back and forth as he stuffs his mouth with the last of the cheese, his plate emptied in record time. It is obvious that he feels no reason to be concerned about his fate, and that, more than anything else, provides Valjean with all the reassurance he needs.

He shakes his head, doing his best to look solemn. ‘If there has been such an outbreak of dangerous behaviour on the streets, I think I should accompany you back to the stationhouse, don’t you agree? But after you finish eating, of course.’

Valjean is rewarded with an enthusiastic nod, although the boy’s eyes are fixed longingly upon the vast array of desserts on the table. He appears to be racked with indecision, and Marius jumps up from his chair to pile him up a plate with a little of everything. 

Cosette takes advantage of the distraction to tug him aside; she whispers into his ear.

‘Papa, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

He shakes his head in amused disbelief. ‘That Javert has received some kind of knock to the head, and will be most displeased with his behaviour once he regains his senses?’ Not that he actually believes this for a second. His surprise comes more from the fact that Javert would dare to be _seen_ to perform an act of charity.

‘No! Well – yes. But mostly I was thinking that we have more food here than we could possibly hope to eat before it spoils.’ Cosette looks up at him earnestly. ‘I know that we were planning on taking it to the church later tonight, but my friend Charlotte told me that she and her husband were already planning on taking food there this evening. Might our food not be put to better use by taking it to the stationhouse, instead? It sounds like there may be other needy folk there.’

He kisses her on the forehead, pride suffusing his entire being. She is such a kind and thoughtful young woman. ‘You are, as always, correct.’

The two of them gather up food into baskets, running out of baskets before they run out of food; by the time they return from the kitchen, Jacques has somehow managed to finish the entire plate of dessert, and Marius has bundled the boy up into a woollen coat that Valjean recognises as Marius’ own. It is far too large for the boy, but he seems more than pleased with his acquisition.

‘Have you ever ridden in a fiacre?’ Valjean asks, and Jacques shakes his head, wide-eyed.

The four of them trudge out into the bitter night, and, absurdly, Valjean finds himself eagerly anticipating their visit to the stationhouse.

 

*

 

The building is crowded fit to burst, the already-cramped rooms now packed to near-overflowing with society’s most unfortunate. They are not cuffed, nor are they locked behind bars; but they confine themselves willingly within the relative warmth of the stationhouse, docile and wary, huddling uncertainly in whatever spare space they can find as the icy wind howls outside.

Amongst the sea of humanity towers a lone figure that faces away from Valjean, barking orders. It is towards this figure that Valjean gravitates; he moves easily through the crowd.

‘Should an old bread thief fear for his freedom tonight?’

Javert does not turn around; he does not even startle. ‘Not if he has already paid his debt to society.’

Javert bends to fill out some paperwork, and Valjean eases around the desk to stand before him. The man is very deliberately absorbed in his work, not looking up to meet Valjean’s eyes.

‘How did you get in here?’ Javert asks, scowling as ink spatters over the page. His hair is threatening to slip from its queue, the victim of a long day; Valjean resists the urge to reach over and tidy it.

‘Sergeant Roux let me through.’ It still astonishes Valjean that he knows these colleagues of Javert’s, that he can exchange pleasantries with them. He has always been skilled at hiding in plain sight, but even he never would have considered something so brazen as regularly wandering into a stationhouse to share a midday meal with the chief inspector, for no reason other than the pure pleasure of it! And yet, it seems to work in his favour, the sheer effrontery of the act apparently warding off any suspicions as to his true identity.

Javert harrumphs, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like _of course he did_. At a more courteous volume, he adds, ‘And why are you here?’

‘I think you know why.’ Valjean keeps the smile from his face with some effort; it escapes through his voice instead. ‘“Impersonating a magistrate”? If you had wanted to avoid arousing my suspicions as to what you were doing, you would not have sent your message with Jacques.’

‘Pierre.’

Valjean blinks. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Javert holds a piece of paper in front of Valjean’s face. Surprised, Valjean takes it and holds it further from his eyes, squinting as he tries to read it in the dim light.

Javert shuffles through the papers on his desk. ‘You are mistaken. His name is Pierre.’

Sure enough, the form states that Pierre, no last name given, has been arrested for highway robbery. It also states that he is aged twenty-four.

‘Pierre is rotten to the core,’ Javert pronounces, thrusting more papers at Valjean.

_Pierre, aged twenty-four – twelve counts of arson. Pierre, aged twenty-four – impersonating a magistrate._

He tries to catch Javert’s eyes again, but fails once more. The man does not look agitated per se, but the set of his jaw indicates definite unease.

Valjean pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. While he would normally never look at police records without very good reason – and Javert would usually never allow it – he picks up more papers from the desk. Javert makes no move to stop him.

_Pierre, aged twenty-four – theft of thirty-seven ladies’ hats. Pierre, aged twenty-four – exposing himself to sailors at the docks._ The desk is covered in forms, and they all detail Pierre’s exploits, each more sorry than the last. There is nothing, as far as he can see, to identify any of the wretched souls who have actually been arrested.

‘Pierre has been a busy man,’ he says cautiously. ‘How is it that he managed to commit so many crimes before being caught?’

Javert clears his throat. ‘There... may have been a clerical error.’

Valjean makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, taking in the chaos before him – there must be at least two dozen people in this room alone! Amongst them he spies Marius and Cosette, making their way from person to person, doling out food and smiles in equal measure.

He shakes his head incredulously, even as his mouth twitches into a smile. ‘A clerical error, you say.’

Javert’s countenance becomes even more grim, if such a thing is possible. ‘It was a large error.’

‘I will not argue with you on that point.’ He feels a pang of concern as a sudden thought strikes him. ‘What happens now, if the error is as grievous as you say?’

‘They must all stay in the stationhouse until my superior officer returns to sort out the mess, which will be tomorrow morning at the earliest.’ The frown lines upon Javert’s forehead deepen. ‘However, he has an unfortunate tendency towards getting falling-down drunk at every holiday, so I cannot estimate his time of return – they could be forced to remain here until the twenty-sixth.’

Valjean fights back the urge to kiss those frown lines until they recede, settling instead for the press of a friendly hand to the man’s shoulder. The gesture is enough to startle Javert into looking up for the first time since Valjean arrived; there is something of the self-satisfied look about him that Valjean knows so well, but there is also a hint of fear.

To be honest, Valjean is completely unsurprised that the man is feeling troubled. That Javert should have deliberately misused the law in order to perform an act of charity – it almost defies belief! The man views his paperwork as being on a level of sanctity equivalent to that which Valjean accords the Scriptures; to see him so blatantly defile it sets the world askew on its axis.

He tightens his hand in concern. ‘As long as the person who made the error is not to be punished too severely?’

Javert laughs – the sound is a little harsh, but welcome nonetheless. ‘I think the culprit is in good enough graces with his superiors that he will receive little more than a slap on the wrist. Discipline here is not what it should be.’

‘That is good to hear.’ He lets go of Javert’s shoulder reluctantly; a small smile creeps across his face. ‘It is good to see you. We missed you at dinner.’

‘I should have known that you would not be able to keep away, even after I told the boy to specifically tell you not to come.’

Valjean refrains from rolling his eyes; it was never an impulse he had much in the past, but now that he is spending more time with Javert, the urge comes on more frequently. ‘Oh, come now – ’

He cuts himself off as he notices a solitary figure in one of the cells. _Locked_ in one of the cells, his arms cuffed behind him. The man glares at him balefully.

He frowns, and points at the man. ‘What did he do?’

‘Who?’ Javert looks to where Valjean is indicating; his face is stone, but Valjean can see his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. ‘Him? Attempted murder.’

‘... Oh.’ Suddenly, Valjean’s Christmas cheer is soured. He should not be surprised – despite all current appearances, this _is_ a stationhouse, and Javert _is_ an officer of the law. Still –

‘Will he not be fed?’

Javert sighs. ‘Yes, he will be fed. But not until after the others have had their fill.’

Valjean opens his mouth to protest – what if they should run out of food before the man receives his share? – but Javert cuts him off. ‘There is plenty enough food to go around. He will eat. Eventually.’ He rubs at his eyes; he looks tired. ‘Please, let us not argue about this tonight.’

Valjean nods. ‘That is fair enough.’ It is a far more thoughtful response from Javert than he once would ever have dared hoped for.

Javert gestures with a file; and although the movement appears random, indifferent, Valjean feels the paper brush over the back of his hand. He tries not to shiver, and mostly succeeds.

‘You should go home,’ Javert says. ‘I have already broken enough rules for one evening – I fear that keeping you and the other two here all night would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.’

Valjean opens his mouth to protest, but Javert cuts him off with something that, on any other person’s face, would be a smile. ‘I will see that everyone is fed, Valjean. Go home. I will come see you tomorrow.’

‘Is that a promise?’

‘Will you leave if it is?’

Valjean nods, and Javert returns the gesture. It is enough; he is satisfied.

‘You should leave before I say something regrettable,’ Javert says wryly. ‘I am not cut out for peace on earth and goodwill to men.’

He shrugs. ‘You seem to be doing a fine job of it from where I’m standing.’

Javert’s snort is dismissive. ‘It has been a long day. I think I only have enough goodwill left in me for one man.’

Valjean cannot help the foolish smile that stretches across his face. ‘That man must surely count himself extremely fortunate.’

Javert waves his hand in brusque dismissal, but the upturn at the corner of his mouth betrays him. ‘Goodnight, Valjean. Merry Christmas.’

‘And a Merry Christmas to you, Javert.’


End file.
